


Francis

by loveofmylonglife



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:23:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9181435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveofmylonglife/pseuds/loveofmylonglife
Summary: The penultimate scene from 2x05 when Ross comes to tell Elizabeth of Francis death. A short rambling regarding what happens after Ross opens the door.





	

He didn’t have to say anything. Of course he didn’t. Not a sound passed his lips and he watched her beautiful face fall. A candelabra behind her, though far in the distance, lit her features in light and shadow. Her face reddened, a sharp flush pinching at her cheeks as her eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip turned inwards and began to wobble in a strangely childish fashion.

There was an odd silence between them and Ross knew he should open his mouth, say something, go some way to explain even though he didn’t need to. The chill air swept either side of him into the warmth of Trenwith, causing the candles to flicker. She felt the cold bite harshly at the exposed skin of her face and neck and grew numb with it, moving her eyes down from Ross’ face to his boots. Mud caked them and she realised Ross was covered in gravel and dirt, his clothes dark and sodden.

“Elizabeth? Who is it, my dear? Has Francis not arrived yet?”

A sharp intake of breath involuntarily passed Ross as he shook himself and turned to see Verity bustle in busily. She paused and looked between Ross and Elizabeth, noting the silence, the chill, the horrific quietness between them.

“Ross? What is it? What has happened?”

Elizabeth gripped the door just as she had when she’d opened it and felt her corset tighten around her chest. It was hard to breathe now, her bottom lip red and sore from biting to keep from screaming out in anguish. She heard Ross’ voice, low and quiet in front of her as he stepped forward into the house and took Verity’s hands, pulling her aside gently. She heard murmurs of ‘Francis’ and ‘accident at the mine,’ and soon Verity’s gasps filled the hallway. She threw herself at her cousin and began sobbing uncontrollably. Ross held her for as long as he could, his own face contorting and his jaw clenching.

Elizabeth stared out at the vacant space Ross had left in the doorway. The front of Trenwith remained unchanged as far as she could see in the dark. The gravel traversed around the grass in a circle, beyond which the gates lay open, flaming finials set on each pillar to light the way. He would never come through those gates again. She would never hear the crunch of his boots as he swept in jovially, the soft padding of her own feet as she stepped out to meet him and most of all, the eager thump of her son as he ran out to burrow head first into his father. She closed her eyes and she could almost hear that funny sound Francis made whenever Geoffrey Charles ran and grabbed him around the middle. He would exclaim in mock pain and crouch down to hug his son similarly around the waist, suggesting they go out to the fields or on the horse before whisking him away from his very worried mother.

“Elizabeth? Elizabeth?”

She felt a light grip on her arm and barely heard Verity calling her. She felt far away, as if it were a dream and she was waking up. She didn’t know how long it had been that Verity had been saying her name but by the tone of her voice, it had been a while. She felt her body move as Verity shook her arm vigorously, but it was almost as if it was happening to someone else. She felt a strange detachment from her own anatomy and her mind had gone oddly blank. She was looking but not seeing.

“Elizabeth, won’t you say something? Please, my dear, say something!”

“Verity, I think it best we leave her,” came Ross’ voice, quietly and sternly as he gripped his cousin’s arm and pulled her away from Elizabeth gently, “it’s cold, Verity, we must bring her inside. Ask the kitchen to prepare some warm brandy.”

The instruction was given in a low and authoritative tone to calm down his cousin and Verity gathered herself, holding her hands to her face for a split second before breathing in deeply and nodding, turning to obey until a peripheral movement alerted them both.

Elizabeth let go of the door she had been holding all this time and a loud sob left her lips as she swung around and collapsed on the floor, her dress fluttering beautifully around her. The perfectly formed ringlet that graced her neck fell with the force of her movement as she pressed a hand to her stomach, her knees in incredible pain from the force of the fall. Ross exclaimed her name and threw himself down next to her, speaking and attempting to pull her up but she pushed him away harshly. Her eyes burned and tears made their way like fire down her cheeks. Ridiculous gasps left her mouth as she tried to breathe, to take in enough air to choke back the tears.

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth, please, let me take you inside. It’s cold here, you’ll catch a chill.”

His voice was pleading and his eyes were sad, but it was no use. She leaned forward, bracing one hand on the floor, curling herself inwards until she was almost a ball. The cold air bit at her back and Ross moved quickly to close the door. The echo filled the empty hallway obscenely and Ross leaned down again, placing a warm hand on her back. She sat up slowly and Ross bit his lip, moving to take her hand to help her up and into the living room, but she wrested it out of his grip with a ferocity he’d not seen from her before.

“Don’t touch me.”

It was nothing more than a whisper and devoid of emotion. She moved slowly to sit with her back against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes, tipping her head upwards to the ceiling as if waiting for some sort of deliverance or salvation. Ross watched her, his jaw tense. He hated feeling helpless. The gold thread of her dress shone brightly in the candle light and tears dripped gracefully down her cheeks, glimmering like pearls, scattered across her lashes like loose diamonds. Even in grief, she looked ethereal.

He turned to Verity, his own eyes red and swollen, his face tight and lined with frustration. Verity bit her lip and walked slowly across to Elizabeth, kneeling in front of her to where she’d drawn her knees up to her chest like a little girl. Verity took her hands gently and Elizabeth slowly moved her head down to look at her friend.

“We shall have to tell Aunt Agatha,” whispered Elizabeth automatically, as if reciting a list.

Verity nodded and gently squeezed her hands, warming them carefully with her own. She was as cold as ice, her pale skin showing the veins beneath. Verity looked down to see tears darkening the delicate blue of her gown.

“And Geoffrey Charles,” whispered Elizabeth, even quieter, “we shall have to tell Geoffrey Charles.”

Her voice broke slightly, got lost amongst the grief and Ross watched Verity begin to cry too. She inclined her head forwards and joined her forehead with Elizabeth’s, letting the tears stain her dress again. Ross turned on his heel and swung the door open, slamming it shut behind him.


End file.
